


Cross perspective

by Penstrokes



Category: Super Science Friends (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Whump, baby's first mass murder, fusion au, newfound appreciation for Curie, some violence and gore but it's on par with Ep 3 and 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 21:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16227599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penstrokes/pseuds/Penstrokes
Summary: When Churchill decides to use the power of fusion, he decides the Super Science Friends need to make the first strikes against the Nazis instead of simply waiting to react. Curie and Freud find themselves backed into a corner and left with no choice but to attempt Fusion for the first time.Freud thinks he's won their personal war, but he has no idea what he's gotten himself into





	Cross perspective

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roidadidou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roidadidou/gifts).



One had to be both blind and deaf to not know that Curie and Freud did not get together on most levels of interaction. With the exception of the times Curie saved his ass in the middle of battle, there were few times that the two got along on decent enough terms that did not warrant a death glare from Curie or a snide comment from Freud.

 

There were only two, maybe three times when them being in the same room together was ever seen, either voluntarily or involuntarily. Mandatory meetings, mandatory sessions or mandatory missions. Unfortunately, this particular day involved two of the three, but they would inevitably get that session in, one that only one of them would enjoy or actually talk in. It was another attack on the Nazis, Churchill had grown frustrated with simply waiting by for action to happen. Not long after discovering his members had learned how to fuse, he’d jumped into his current course of action.

 

He would strike first. No more sitting around to react, he would just act.

 

* * *

 

The team was going after another known strong hold, their hands were full. Churchill insisted they could do it, the disregard of the team’s unease and worry were apparent. So wrapped up in his drive for war, his lust for blood spilled by his hand, in the name of victory, he had become over confident in his judgement.

 

They weren’t losing, but they weren’t winning either. An outcome that looked to easily fall either way. No one was particularly confident about which they would end up with. Tesla, although occasionally failing, were keeping them enough at bay that Darwin could at least injure a few. Einstein was zipping and dodging his way around the masses for his own safety, striking when he could. Marie had lost sight of Tapps, but she wasn’t as worried about her. Tapputi had survived this long, she could handle her own. She’d seen her take down a decent number of enemies single handedly. She was backed up, trapped with only Freud by her side.

 

She loathed this. She hated Churchill for making such a reckless decision that led them here. That put Einstein at risk. She had a mind to tell him off later when they got back.

 

_If they got back._

 

Curie clenched her jaw. No, they _were_ going to survive this. They had to. Curie would not let herself go down like this, she would not die _here._

 

Curie could feel the ache in her bones, the beginning of her radiation turning on her. There were so many, an endless army before them.

 

She bumped into Freud, who was nursing an injured arm. He let out a weak chuckle.

 

“So, come here often?” He joked, thinly hiding the very real fear he felt. Curie rolled her eyes.

 

She knew. So did he.

 

If they were going down here, he was the first to go.

 

Curie pushed him behind her and threw up a force field. The pain of the excess radiation was getting to her, her arm throbbed in burning pain. Bullets and lazers rattled against her shield, obscuring her views of the others.

 

Where were they? Were they alright? Fear and stress poured into her heart. Fatigue and pain seeped into her bones.

 

“You know, I think there’s a solution to this problem, after all.” Freud began from behind her.

 

“Is there? Because I don’t see it.” She barked back, not letting her concentration fail her.

 

“There’s something I have been wanting to try.” He continued, not getting to the point. She simply grunted in response, as she felt her field being pushed back against her.

 

Freud took her free hand, the hand free of the ring. _Her_ ring.

 

 _Their_ ring.

 

“Fuse with me.” He said simply. Startled and almost disgusted, she pulled her hand away from him.

  
“What? No. I’m not fusing with you.” She rebuffed, pushing him away.

 

* * *

 

Freud ignored the pain his arm. It was so simple, he couldn’t see why she wouldn’t want to take the obvious solution to their problem. The usual pragmatism that she carried, seeking the shortest route was gone here.

 

Why?

 

Curie had long since resisted him and his efforts to study her mind, to get to the bottom of her problems. Often, he had found himself butting up against her defenses, her reluctance to let him in, to understand.  

 

Had it been because of her husband that she would seldom mention now and again?  Leaving behind those you loved was hard enough when it was simply across distance. In their case, it wasn’t just a separation of distance but of time. Absence of those familiar and loved had an effect on people, whether it be overt or pronounced. It was his job to fix these problems, to soothe these emotional wounds.

 

Fusing would give them extra power, but it would also give Freud what he really wanted.

 

A look into her mind, to get behind her defenses.

 

He was certain that all their answers lay behind this fusion. They needed it.

 

Whether Curie was willing to sacrifice their lives in her stubbornness was a question he was certain he already knew the answer to.

* * *

  
  


Curie took his hand, he could feel _that_ feeling. A seldom felt feeling, a warmness unlike regular body heat came from Curie’s palm, pressed against his.

 

“Let’s get it over with.” She said lowly, not wanting to look Freud in the eyes. A stupid grin crossed Freud’s face. He had won.

 

He reciprocated her warmth, an acceptance to do the nearly impossible and illogical.

 

“I’ve been waiting for this moment for a very long time.” He cooed, leaning close to her.

 

“Pervert. I bet you have.” Was the last thing Curie uttered as their bodies and minds became one.

 

* * *

 

Pain.

 

A deep, searing pain penetrated their flesh and bones. Like glowing pokers digging deep into their joints, they let out a cry.

 

Freud’s mind recoiled at the jolt of pain. This...this was not what he had expected. A misshaped series of arms popped forth from them. The expected two, were half decayed, with raw flesh wounds, where he could see into their mutated muscles. Malformed extras hung off of their torso. He could feel them and even move them to an extent.   

 

A deep ragged breathy gasp escaped them, as they stood up. The Nazis froze, staring in horror, fingers and minds unable to function.  Their lungs felt heavy with radiation, as if they could feel the cloud of toxic ions and atoms within each breath. Each exhale tainting the air around them.

 

Freud was aware of the thoughts of the clones before them. He could hear not only sexual thoughts, he could go deeper than that. All of it lay open before him, his metaphorical fingers.  A deep pulsing at his temples married to what he knew his powers could do on their own opened a door. He could hear fear, an almost suicidal drive to continue.

 

All of it.

 

It was as if he were connected to them all on some level.

 

_What are you waiting for?_

 

They had a fight to win.

 

_The sooner we win, the sooner we can leave._

 

Leave.

 

Freud wanted to leave. He should have expected Curie to carry radiation with her when she fused. He’d seen it in action many times before and yet to be the giving end, to carry it within him, forced a new perspective upon himself. He had never been ‘deadly’ by himself, no, his powers were more to subdue, to disarm and distract. Curie carried a great killing power with relative ease.

 

Finish it.

 

Freud unleashed a powerful, green wave from their minds. It was here, he was hit with another staggering wave of horror. He could feel their brains melting. Their panicked thoughts as their minds began to fail. Memories distorting, language mixing and distingrating. Unable to do anything else but scream at what was happening to them. Dissociation, the slow loss of self while still being aware enough to know it was happening.

 

Freud could hear, could _feel_ every single one of them screaming, out loud and in their minds until they could no longer scream with words. Minds melted away to the pure basic functions of survival.

 

Breathing.

 

Swallowing.

 

Heartbeat.

 

Consciousness.

 

Freud could feel them melting away. Every one of them.

 

Stopping.

 

One. By. One.

 

Until  the bodies dropped and silence finally filled the air.

 

They unfused.

* * *

  
  


Freud was kneeling, clutching the ground. Curie stood behind him, not making a sound. How many?

 

How many had he killed just then? Freud had every reason, every motivation to hate them, to want them dead.

 

He did and they were. The echoes of their anguish had stopped but he could still hear them in his head, he could feel them dying still. They were just clones, just Nazis, but they had looked and sounded human enough to hang onto his own psyche.

 

The sudden touch of Curie’s hand upon his shoulder was enough to scare him. Spinning around, scrambling out of a panicked reflex to save himself from what they had become, from what they had _done._ Curie withdrew her hand, a stoic expression as usual.

 

No.

 

Not as usual. Underneath that mask was pain and regret.

 

“It’s over. Let’s get the others. Let’s go home.” She comforted him the best she could. She stood there, waiting. When he didn’t follow, she left him behind, stepping over the bodies and the blood….there was so much _blood._

  


So many bodies that had been warm and moving were now still and starting to cool.

 

He had done this.

 

He staggered out and as away as possible.

  


The other members had gotten away and separated during the fight. They were all alive and physically ok.

 

* * *

 

Churchill smiled at them, fat cigar in his mouth.

 

“Well, mission accomplished. You sure put a dent in those Nazis. It’ll take them at least a week to recover.”

 

It was baffling how gleeful Churchill was, oblivious to what they had done. What _he_ had done.

 

“Let’s keep striking when the iron’s hot.” Churchill piped up, reveling in their victory.

 

The other four let out an excited whoop, leaving Freud feeling baffled. How could they be celebrating?

 

There was no mistaking that Freud could never see the Nazis as anything other than the pure evil killing machines, fighting was the only way to end them, to the end the war. An end to the killing was more killing.

 

Fight death with death. Bleed the enemy forces out to the point of defeat. Piles of corpses in their wake. Freud wasn’t naive, he knew what war entailed. It was just as if he were seeing it for the first time.

 

* * *

 

Freud was alone in his office, silently smoking in an attempt to take his mind off earlier that day. He’d jumped into the shower at the first opportunity and scrubbed as if he could free himself from the taint. As if he could go back to when he’d mostly run as a distraction.

 

The dying light streamed through his semi closed blinds, filtering in, leaving him with stripes of sunlight and the glow of his own cigar in front of him in the darkness.

 

A knock on his door made him jump.

 

“Come in.” The words escaped his mouth before he’d had a chance to register them.

 

Curie closed the door behind her. The mere sight of her caused him to tense. Before, he would have delighted to see her. Now there was simply dread in his stomach.

 

“I thought you might want to talk. About earlier.” She explained, sitting down in front of him.

 

“Isn’t that my line?” He asked, fixing the lights so they weren’t both sitting in the dark. He could see the glow of her ring and...he didn’t want to see it.

 

“I think I’m more experienced here.” Curie responded, hands folded neatly, concealing the ring.

 

Freud conceded. He didn’t have it in him to fight. No more violence, just peace. A want he’d be denied but still a want he had.

 

“Is it always like that? The killing?” He asked. It was strange, finding himself on the other side of the therapy session. So used to asking the questions and making judgements that it felt almost alien yet welcome.

 

Curie thought to herself for a moment.

 

“Sort of. What we experienced today, I’ve never had to feel them dying like that. I’ve felt people die, under my fingers. I’ve heard them scream. This time was different. _We_ felt them die in our heads. When they died, a part of us left with them as well.” Curie explained, never truly breaking from her stoic expression. It was something Freud found comforting now, as if it were a solid rock for him to cling to in this turbulent aftermath.

 

“We did what we had to do.”

 

They simply stared at one another, knowing that they were the only two to truly know what that particular type of hell was like. Sigmund took a deep inhale, letting the tobacco warm his lungs, like a great warm internal hug.

 

“You always seem so, unbothered by it. How?” He almost begged her for her methods of coping. That stonewall expression of hers broke, eyes almost searching for the right words.

 

“I’ve spent my whole life fighting. Not physically, but emotionally and mentally. Being a woman, much less a woman in the field of science was never going to be easy. There are just, so many barriers, so many circumstances and people saying _no._ My country was taken over, smothered and forced to live under someone else’s rule. I didn’t have a choice. I had to keep going.

 

When there are so many factors that could take you out, push you aside and end you, you don’t have the luxury of being sad about it in the open. To show weakness, _how much they’ve hurt you,_ is fatal. The team needs you, Freud. They need someone to mask their worries and show that they can get through it.

 

You have to do what you have to do.”

 

The silence returned once more. Freud understood now, what he couldn’t before. What he was naive to believe as a fault was a strength tempered over time. An armor to protect herself from the world who wouldn’t have given her a chance.

 

“Can you teach me?”

 

She watched him carefully.

 

“Can you teach me, how to be like you?” His voice was quiet now, almost pleading and in awe.

 

“I’ll teach you what I know.”


End file.
